Chapter 27
The girl in the mirror stares back at me and I don’t recognize her, not entirely. Not the way I used to.
I’m standing in my bathroom in nothing but my bra and underwear, my hand resting on the curve of my stomach. It’s more pronounced than it was two weeks ago, but still not enough that anyone would notice, not when I’m wearing the right clothes. But I notice. I notice every single day.
I turn to the side, my fingers tracing the gentle swell. It was real the moment I saw him on the screen at the hospital, the moment I heard his heartbeat, but it’s getting more real by the minute, and tonight, it’s going to be unavoidable. Everyone will know after tonight.
My chest tightens at the thought.
I think about the last two weeks. About how different they’ve been from the two weeks before. How different yet the same Beckett has been.
He hasn’t pulled away or made me feel guilty for telling him I needed to take a step back. If anything, he’s made me feel better about that decision, like he knows it’s the right choice. That putting myself first is the bravest thing I could have done instead of the most selfish.
We still see each other most days. Either in the evening when I’m getting back from the inn, or in the morning when I’m leaving for my run. Beckett doesn’t go with me every morning, but he’s started running with me a few days a week.
He had a lot of questions around whether that was safe for the baby, but the doctor said it was fine.
She told me at my appointment that as long as I was listening to my body and wasn’t doing anything too strenuous it would be fine, especially since running has been part of my morning routine since I was in high school.
I appreciated that he wasn’t smothering me with his concern, but he wasn’t afraid to let me know about it either. It was nice knowing someone cared about how we were doing.
But none of our time together beat our Saturdays watching a few classics from his list of Top 100 Hollywood classic movies.
They’ve become my favorite part of the week.
He shows up around lunchtime with a bag of food, snacks, and the next round of movies to watch.
We sit in the living room, and for a few hours I’m not the woman pregnant with her ex’s baby.
I’m just Madison, a woman sitting on a couch next to someone who makes me feel like myself.
Beckett doesn’t shy away from talking about the baby either. He asks me questions and listens to my answers. He encourages me to share whatever I’m thinking, even when what I’m thinking is messy and complicated and doesn’t have a clean resolution. And he’s always checking in.
How are you feeling? Do you need anything? How’s the little nugget? Are you sure you’re okay?
And I am. With him, I am.
I think about Aiden and how he hasn’t pressured me about telling our parents or Wyatt.
Not once. He checks in every day, a text or a phone call, sometimes he drops by the inn or the house.
He doesn’t feed me excuses. We both know exactly why he’s there, wanting to make sure I’m okay. That I’m still standing.
I can’t stop my mind from wandering to the conversation we had after I told him about my talk with Mark. He got so quiet and his eyes went blank, a faraway look taking over. I couldn’t follow, but I was pretty sure I knew where he went.
He was thinking about his own difficult conversations. The ones he had with his wife when she told him she was pregnant with Jackson.
Aiden never questioned being a father. It was always in his life plan, and he loves Jackson with everything he has.
He did from the moment he found out about him.
But I know he hates the way it happened.
It’s not the way he would’ve chosen starting a family.
It wasn’t planned—wasn’t expected. And I think, in some small way, watching me go through something similar has stirred up things he thought he put to rest.
All of it leads me back to my parents. To Wyatt.
I don’t know how they’re going to take the news. I don’t know if Mom will cry or if Dad will go quiet, the way he does when processing something he doesn’t want to say out loud. And I don’t know if Wyatt will joke to deflect or if he’ll be serious.
My eyes fall to my stomach in the mirror and I find myself stroking the small bump, my thumb moving in a slow circle over the curve.
“I know,” I whisper. The baby doesn’t respond, but I swear I feel something. A warmth. A certainty that settles somewhere beneath my ribs and stays. “No matter what happens tonight, they’re all going to love you. I know that the way I know my own name.”
My throat tightens and I press my palm flat against the swell, holding the warmth there like I can transfer it through my skin.
“Madison,” Beckett calls from downstairs, and I jump. My hand flies to my chest, my heart hammering against my palm.
How did I miss the sound of the front door opening?
“How many times do we need to have this conversation about keeping the front door locked?” he calls.
I press my hand to my chest, willing my pulse to slow. “I knew you were coming and I wouldn’t be ready when you got here. The door’s only been unlocked for the last thirty minutes!” I yell back.
“That’s not an excuse when I have a key,” he calls back, his voice closer now, like he’s moving up the stairs.
I ignore his words and roll my eyes. “I’ll be down in a few minutes. Eat a snack or something!”
I turn back to the mirror. The girl staring back at me still doesn’t look quite like herself, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe she’s not supposed to anymore.
“I love you,” I whisper, stroking my stomach once more before moving to the closet to get dressed.
The conversation flows around me like water around a stone.
I’m sitting at my parents’ dinner table; the same table I’ve sat at for every Sunday dinner since I can remember.
Mom’s at one end, Dad’s at the other. Aiden and Jackson are across from me, Jackson’s fork clattering against his plate as he tells some story about school that I’m not quite following.
Wyatt’s on one side of me, Beckett on the other.
And I’m not paying attention to any of it.
I catch fragments. Something about Jackson’s teacher and a project that involved glue and what sounds like a truly alarming amount of glitter.
Aiden’s voice, low and steady, asking follow-up questions about the assignment, a look of pure fear etched across his features.
Jackson explains with the kind of earnest enthusiasm only a four-year-old can muster, his hands waving as he talks.
Mom tells him to use his indoor voice, which he ignores completely.
Wyatt leans past me to reach for the rolls, and I catch the tail end of whatever he and Beckett have been talking about.
Something about the property line at his land in the woods and whether he should put up a fence before spring.
Wyatt has an opinion about it. Beckett doesn’t.
Neither of them are wrong, but Wyatt isn’t willing to back down, which means this particular conversation has probably been going on for the last ten minutes.
I note, distantly, that I’m grateful for how my parents have started treating Beckett.
Like the novelty of having The Beckett Stone at their table has worn off and he’s just like any other person.
No special treatment. No interrogating questions.
No hovering. He’s been folded into the family dinners the way Sadie was when she first started coming around.
I don’t know exactly when that happened, but I’m glad it did.
Dad passes the rolls to Wyatt without being asked.
Mom tops off Beckett’s water glass the way she does when she’s decided someone belongs.
There’s no fanfare to it, no moment where someone announces Beckett was welcome here.
It happened the way things always happen in this family, slowly and then all at once, until one day you look up and realize the extra chair at the table isn’t extra anymore.
The conversations overlap, not everyone being part of one big conversation.
Multiple threads run at the same time, weaving in and out of each other, just like it always has.
Wyatt and Beckett have started talking about how Wyatt got to see Ryan last week, and Aiden and Dad have moved on.
Dad asks about a headline he saw of a body found in a neighboring town and Aiden tells him now isn’t the time to talk about it.
Mom is fussing over Jackson’s plate, making sure he eats something green before he goes back for more.
It’s easy and warm. Everything I love about this table, and I don’t want to shatter it.
The lull comes without warning. The conversations thin out one by one, like spools running out of thread.
Jackson’s story winds down, the update on Ryan reaches its end, and even the clatter of forks and knives seems to quiet until there’s a beat of silence that settles over the table like a held breath.
Wyatt wipes his mouth, his eyes catching mine. “Hey, Mads. Everything all right? You’ve been pretty quiet this evening.”
My gaze travels around the table. Everyone is here. Mom. Dad. Wyatt. Everyone I love and still need to tell about the pregnancy is here in one room.
My eyes land on Aiden. He’s already watching me, his expression careful, controlled. He gives me the smallest nod. Like he’s silently telling me Go ahead. You’ve got this.
I feel Beckett’s hand on my leg—warm and steady. The same quiet comfort he always offers, the kind that doesn’t need words. His thumb moves once against my knee, a small, grounding pressure that says he’s right there.
“Madison?” Dad’s voice is gentle, worry furrowing his brow. “Is everything okay, pumpkin?”
My voice comes out steadier than I expect. “I’m fine. I just…I have some news. Something I found out after the accident.”
The table goes still and Jackson looks up from his plate, sensing the shift in the air even if he doesn’t understand it.
I swallow, my eyes moving over the people I’m talking to most, and I find myself keeping my eyes trained on my mother. I don’t know why, but she’s the reaction I care about most right now.
“I’m pregnant.”
Mom gasps. Her hand flies to her mouth and her eyes dart to Beckett.
There’s something hopeful in her expressions, something that makes my stomach drop because I know what she’s thinking.
She’s thinking Beckett and I have gotten quite close, that after the accident he’s become more attentive, more protective.
“It’s Mark’s,” I say, before she can voice her thoughts.
The hope on her face flickers and fades, something like pity taking its place.
“I didn’t find out until I was already eighteen weeks pregnant,” I continue, my voice cracking slightly. “I didn’t…I didn’t know. I had no idea.”
The silence that follows is the loudest thing I’ve ever heard.
Mom looks at Dad, her eyes filling with tears, and I watch as a few spill over, tracking down her cheeks. She presses her hand harder against her mouth like she’s trying to hold something in, and then she’s pushing back from the table and rushing out of the room.
My eyes shift to my dad but he doesn’t move for a long moment, his gaze stuck on the spot Mom used to be.
When he finally looks at me, there’s something on his face I can’t define.
It’s not anger or disappointment. It’s much heavier, something that sits in the space between his eyes and the set of his jaw, and I don’t know what to call it.
He opens his mouth like he’s going to speak then closes it.
He stands quietly. “I’m going to go check on your mother,” he says, leaving before anyone can respond.
I stare at the empty spot he left behind.
Beckett’s hand tightens on my leg, a reminder he’s there.
I feel his thumb trace a slow circle against my knee, and I know he’s offering me that quiet comfort I’ve grown accustomed to.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. He just holds me there, steady and solid, and I’m grateful for it in a way I don’t have words for.
I don’t know what reaction I was hoping for, but utter silence wasn’t it.
Wyatt is still staring at the doorway they disappeared through. His body frozen in shock. Slowly he turns to me and pulls me into his side. His arm comes around my shoulder—heavy and warm—and he holds me there, his grip tight.
“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice quiet—serious. No jokes. No deflections.
“Scared,” I whisper, my eyes burning. “But excited.”
He holds me tighter. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I smile, pulling back just enough to look at him.
Wyatt’s face changes. The shock melts into something younger and brighter. Something much more Wyatt.
“Do you want to see the ultrasound?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation, the word coming out fast and breathless.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the photo, slightly bent in the corner from where I’ve been carrying it all evening. I smooth the crease and hand it to him.
Wyatt stares at the ultrasound, his mouth opening and closing a few times. He traces the edge of the photo with his thumb, and I watch as his eyes go glassy.
“That’s a baby, all right.”
“A boy,” I say through a watery laugh.
“Another nephew,” he says, his voice rough. He pulls me back into his side, the ultrasound held carefully in his other hand. “I love you, Mads. I can’t wait to be an uncle to another little boy.”
I press my face into his shoulder and let the tears come.
I have no idea what just happened with my parents and that’s something I’m going to have to face, but this reaction from my brother is exactly what I needed.
“It’s gonna be all right, Mads.” Aiden reaches across the table, taking my hand in his, a fierce look in his eyes.
There’s no doubt in my mind he’s telling the truth. Tucked into Wyatt’s side, holding Aiden’s hand, and having Beckett’s reassuring touch on my knee I know everything will be okay in the end. I just don’t know what that looks like right now.